Founded on Love
by Indigo Ziona
Summary: Helga/Salazar. Yes indeed. Helga Hufflepuff tells her story of love, hate and madness.


_In some ways, I've always been rather pleased that in Founders fics, Helga Hufflepuff always seems to be single, as opposed to being involved in some sort of love triangle, like the other three.  It makes her seem more mature, somehow.  And in other ways, it rather irritates me, I think that just because she's nice doesn't mean she has no sex appeal.  I explained the houses to my non-Harry Potter fan boyfriend without the 'Hufflepuffs are duffers…  Slytherins are evil' insertions and he agreed that I was a Hufflepuff.  And if he can fancy me, someone must have fancied Helga at some point.  Also, do you ever get the feeling that JK is incredibly Gryffindor biased when it comes to the houses?  Hufflepuffs die, Slytherins sneer, and Ravenclaws either do nothing, cry, or support Gryffindor in Quidditch matches.  Honestly.  Well, rant over.  Time for the fic to begin!_

**Founded on Love**

He kissed me.  Me.  He could have kissed Rowena, intelligient and insightful Rowena.  He didn't want Rowena.  He wanted me.

I melted into his arms.  I loved him.  I always had.  Wily and clever Salazar, those cold eyes that always gently softened when he saw me.  For a second, I was drowning.  Salazar. Mine.

"Dearest Helga," he murmured, "Dearest."  We kissed for what seemed like hours, and yet when we broke apart it seemed only as seconds, eternity captured in a moment.  It had not been long enough, I knew, and I looked hungrily at his face, longing for more.

He smiled, that sweet, vulnerable smile that sometimes touched his face when he looked at me.  Just me.  Godric had been his closest friend for so long, and yet that smile was mine, and mine alone.

At dinner, Rowena kept peering at me during the conversation.  She knew something was up, something had changed.  I usually chattered away like anything, but after the kiss I did not trust myself to speak, lest my strange and new mood become evident.  Godric and Salazar were boisterous as ever when together, but I caught the little glances Salazar threw at me, and knew, that in spite of his manly behaviour, I was in his heart.  

Hogwarts was only a few weeks old, and most of our prospective pupils hadn't arrived yet.  Godric and Rowena argued long about tests we should put our pupils through – Godric wanted to test their mettle, but Rowena argued that knowledge and wisdom were more important – on and on and on, but Salazar and I were agreed.  At first by accident, and then willingly we had spent endless hours together in the evening sitting out in the garden, looking at the stars and talking about our dreams.  We both knew that testing an unlearned servant's child for their intelligence, or an isolated child for their courage, would say nothing of what they could grow into.  We knew that Hogwarts would be for the tending as well as the teaching.  Those who would fail Godric and Rowena's tests were most in need of our tending – acceptance would help those children grow, not judgement.

"We have to take all magical children," I told Salazar one afternoon, after one of Godric and Rowena's rows.  "Rich and poor, intelligent and simple, brave and timid."

He stroked my cheek.  "The Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws.  The Slytherins and the Hufflepuffs."

"Precisely," I said, getting excited.  "If we are to be in the business of changing the world, we have to change even the weakest and the worthless."

Salazar smiled.  "You are correct.  We have to take everyone."

"You understand," I said blissfully.  "Godric and Rowena can't see what I am talking about."

"I see exactly," he said.  "You, my dear, are quite a remarkable woman."

And that was when he kissed me.  Sheer passion and beauty seemed to explode inside of me.  Salazar.  My Salazar.  I loved him.

"Besotted," I heard Rowena murmur one morning later that week.  "Completely besotted."  Had I shown it that obviously?

"I know he is," Godric replied.  "He tries not to show it, but every time he looks at her it's so clear.  I wouldn't have thought it possible, but Salazar is in _love_."

Rowena laughed charitably.  "Salazar is in love with Helga.  Everyone loves Helga, the woman is innocence personified."  I was not quite sure whether to be flattered by the assessment.  I knew Rowena thought me foolish – lovable, but foolish.  But the memory of that soon faded – Salazar was in love with me.  Salazar loved me.

I found him tending to young Stefan, his young son.  I adored Stefan – the darling but motherless child. Salazar's wife had been a frightful woman, always cold to Salazar whilst they had been married.  It was all arranged, of course, but she had turned from coldness to despair after Stefan's birth.  No one knew how to console her – I confess, I, who had disliked and despised her, felt my heart torn up with pity on her behalf.  She took the knife to her heart.  I know Salazar had never loved her, but at her death, the death of the woman who had given him his beloved son, I watched him shed tears.  He pretended to be unshakeable as a fortress – but I knew how he hurt, I could see it in the creases on his eyes when others only saw his cunning smile.

Stefan leapt into my arms.  "Aunt Helga!" he exclaimed, and I laughed, and kissed him.  Salazar smiled to see me, greeting me with a gentle kiss on the cheek.  "I do believe that you're Stefan's favourite aunt," he said, and Stefan nodded the assent.  "We play fun games together, and you're never strict like Aunt Rowena, and you don't make me practice my sword all the time, like Uncle Godric."

"They do that because they love you and they want to see you learn things," I said, but I was elated by the praise, and petty though it was, I enjoyed being compared favourably to Godric and Rowena.  I told myself I wanted what was best for all children, but in truth there were many times when what I really wanted was to be called better than Rowena for a change.  As we had been childhood companions, I had often been told how fair and how full of wit Rowena was, and how I should try to be more like her.  This aggrieved me somewhat, and for that moment I did dwell somewhat on that unhappy memory, but then I sat to play with Stefan, and it was forgotten.

"What could I do without you?  You're the mother he never had," Salazar said a little later.  He stroked my hair.  "You're so beautiful."

"I am not as fair as Rowena," I said stubbornly.

"You are not as stiff or staid as Rowena.  You are Helga, and for that I love you."

The 'I love you' was light, but it lingered on the air like perfume.  "I love you, Salazar," I said, unable to contain it, even though I knew ladies of good breeding were not meant to say the words.  When I looked at him, though, I didn't know what else could be said.  Then he repeated the words, the words more magical than any spells we had spoken.  "And I love you.  Forever."

We had one of our few disagreements later at dinner.  Godric and Rowena for once had seemed to have reconciled their differences, agreeing that bravery and intelligence were both important, but then Godric asked the momentous question.

"I suppose the thing we have to ask is, do we accept Muggleborns?"

I said, "Yes" just as Salazar disagreed and said, "No."  Rowena smirked.

"So, they aren't sharing the same mind."

I turned to Salazar.  "Why not?"

He touched me fondly.  "You know what they are like.  We're different from them – we have been raised in the ways of magic all our lives, but they have been taught to fear what they are even before they know.  A Muggleborn is not a wizard – he is a Muggle with magical powers!"

"Surely all the more reason for us to teach them," I said, reasonably.

He frowned.  "Perhaps.  But for the moment I do not care to disrupt our fine plans by bringing Muggle children into this.  You know all that the Muggles have done to us – suppose a Muggleborn were to tell his Muggle family where Hogwarts is?  We could be attacked by a whole army of angry Muggles."

"We can more than adequately defend ourselves," Godric said, and Salazar sighed.

"I still believe it to be too dangerous – suppose our youngest pupils, unable to defend themselves, were attacked?"

"It is a risk," I conceded.  "I think we can mask Hogwarts with a sort of spell that will make Muggles unable to see it.  It's imperative to me that we do teach these Muggleborns; to put it one way, I don't think any of us can afford to have an army of angry _magical_ Muggles at battle with Hogwarts."

"I agree," said Rowena, nodding her head.

"I too," said Godric.

"Then I must back down graciously," Salazar said.  "We shall teach Muggleborns.  Did you ever find a solution for your problem, Godric?  Rowena?"

"A simple agreement," Godric said proudly.  "I shall have some special classes for the bravest.  Rowena will have some for the cleverest.  You and Helga can take the rest."

I laughed.  "Well it's a solution, I suppose. What if a child is both courageous _and _clever?"

"The child shall have to choose," Rowena said.  And we were decided.

The late night conversations with Salazar continued, but now when it was cold, his long arms wrapped around me and I felt safe and warm.  We had long since stopped pretending that our meetings were accidental, that our friendship was merely borne of mutual interest, that we didn't delight in these occasions.  We shared kisses, sometimes, we sat in silence not feeling awkward for it didn't seem as if we needed to say everything.  One night a grass snake curled around Salazar's foot – Salazar's Parseltongue always made me jump, and this was no exception.

Salazar and the snake hissed a short conversation.  Seeming satisfied, Salazar put the snake down again, and turned to me.

"What's wrong?"

I realised I must have turned quite pale.  "I'm sorry, Salazar.  Your conversations with snakes do sometimes frighten me, snakes can be such dangerous creatures."

"I would not particularly like to anger a badger, either," he said with a smile, referring to the animal on my family's crest.  I smiled a little, but he always caught when my smiles were fake, and spoke again.  "Helga dear, I know it unsettles you, but think, what if Godric could talk to lions?  Fearful and dangerous brutes, don't you think?"

"I have never seen a lion," I confessed.

"Most snakes could not do you a bit of harm.  And think…  if a snake were to ever attack you, who would warn it off?  Why, me, of course."

I did smile then.  I felt warm to know that he would protect me.  He ran his fingers through my hair – a favourite pastime of his, and kissed me gently.  And for a moment, I was completely content.

We started teaching a few weeks after.  It was a large horde of children, only a few of which were Muggleborn.  Godric and Rowena handpicked their brave and clever students, so Salazar and I decided we would simply pick the children we got on best with.  In many cases, Salazar's pupils were like him, perceptive and wily, and mine were like me, gentle and conscientious.  Salazar didn't have any Muggleborns – he claimed he didn't plan this, but I knew his one prejudice had won out.  I paid particular attention to the Muggleborns within my own group.  They were understandably rather overwhelmed, many timid and all completely uneducated.  Magical children could all read and write and use numbers, but the poor state of the Muggle world meant that the Muggleborn witches and wizards we did manage to teach were in need of great attention.  This was my task, and I set about it with zeal.  Extra classes needed to be arranged.  Young Stefan sat in on my lessons sometimes, and Salazar could occasionally be seen, standing outside the door, with a smile on his face.  I loved to see him there.  He said he enjoyed watching me teach, he loved the passion which sparked behind my eyes when I knew my children had understood.  I taught all the more zealously knowing that he saw this part of me.

We married a year after Hogwarts was started.  It was a beautiful summer's day, Stefan was my page and Rowena my matron of honour.  Godric took the position of Salazar's best man, and Salazar was magnificent in his emerald green robes.  I felt so lucky to finally be marrying this man who I loved with all my heart.  For a moment on our wedding day, I saw Salazar smile, that real beautiful smile he saved only for me.  Godric seemed surprised at his joy.  My own heart leapt, as I knew that he loved me more than anything and was not afraid to let the world know.

Soon enough, I was pregnant.  Stefan was delighted.  He had taken to calling me 'Mama Helga' and he always loved to listen to my bulging belly to hear his new sibling moving around.  Salazar laid his hands on my abdomen as much as possible, excited more than he would show about the child we were bringing into the world.  She was born on the first day of Spring, and Salazar named her Sarai – 'my princess'.

When Sarai was old enough to toddle around, it was wonderful having her sitting near me in my classes.  I taught all of our pupils in Plant and Animal Lore, and she loved to help me plant seeds and re-pot flowers, as well as mostly listening attentively during my classes with the Muggleborns.  Stefan was protective of her – he told her of things to watch out for and held her hand when they walked the long corridors together.

At night, I walked back to our rooms to find that Salazar was already there.  He had collected our dinner from the House Elves, and Stefan and Sarai sat at the table, cleaned up for dinner.  This routine, repetitive though it was, made for one of my most cherished moments of the day.  Salazar would joke, Stefan would tell us about the exciting things he had discovered that day, and Sarai would often try to join in, although at first her words were faltering.  Salazar would then take Sarai to bed, tuck her in and tell her a story or sing her a song.  He loved his princess more than anything, that I knew.  He was awed by the simple trust she put in him – Salazar was used to people treating him with caution, he often told me so, and I sympathised, because I myself had been afraid of him when we first met.  When we accidentally encountered each other when Salazar visited Godric at the same time as me, I was somewhat intimidated by this intelligent man who never seemed to miss anything.  When we became better friends, I was still a little nervous, although I respected his good sense and his logic.  But when the late night conversations started, I know I saw a part of him others hadn't, the gentle and the vulnerable.  And I stopped being afraid, and started to love.

I loved him all the more seeing him with our daughter.  Though I had seen how he had raised his son, to some extent, I was still amazed by the movement of his lithe hands as they tended to the delicate child.  Her innocence touched him, took away some of the weariness that he had formerly turned into sharp words, black humour.  It was as if she made him younger, somehow.

My Muggleborn pupils were always faced with certain difficulty when it came to the matter of parents.  Most, it must be said, were reasonably understanding, having accepted a long time ago that their child was 'different' and being relieved to discover that there were people like them – not the demon-possessed, but human beings, just like them.  But some, as Salazar had predicted, were revolted and repelled.  I knew that one of my pupils, Daryn, was the son of a violent drunkard.  From what I could gather from various sources – Daryn was reluctant to talk about it – all the children in his family had suffered at the hand of their father, but Daryn most of all because he was magical.  Daryn returned every summer to try and help his family, but as the years went by he became more and more reclusive, more hurt inside.  He would not let me reach out to him.  He was in neither Godric's nor Rowena's special group, Salazar reported him as moderately talented but clumsy in his classes.  Daryn seemed to have lost all his friends – I wondered if I was the only one who knew anything about him.

He had been almost completely silent during my last few classes, occasionally fidgeting and sometimes even murmuring words to himself, but he never communicated.  During one lesson, when all the rest of my pupils were quietly working, he took out his wand, and began swishing it randomly.  I became concerned.

"Daryn, what's wrong?"

He didn't respond.  He swished his wand more, and then stood up.  The eyes of the entire class moved on him now.

"Daryn, come here," I said, in what I hoped was a firm yet kindly voice.

"I will not do what you tell me," he said, in a strange, clear voice.  My concern doubled.

"Why not?"

"I will not listen to the Devil's children."

My concern turned to anxiety.  His words sent a chill through me – long before Hogwarts, when Rowena and I had been playing together as girls, we were called by some Muggles 'the Devil's children'.  It was a common Muggle term amongst those who feared us.  "What do you mean?"  I asked softly.  His eyes seemed to alter focus, as if he was looking at someone who wasn't there.  He seemed to hear voices that were not speaking.  He looked at me as if I had changed into someone else entirely.  Was this madness?  Had his drunkard father finally driven him to madness?  I needed to act quickly.  I needed to reach into somehow contact the old Daryn, the true Daryn.

"The world must be purged of the Devil's children!"  He screeched the words, and some of the pupils in my class cried out in alarm.

"Daryn, give me your wand."  What a useless request.  He did not surrender the wand, but began to walk out of the door.  Should I seize the wand from him?  He might attack me.  I followed him.  I gently touched his shoulder, and he recoiled from my touch.  Then, the worst thing that could have possibly happened, occurred.  My daughter walked down the corridor.

"Sarai, go to your father," I warned, in a falsely calm voice.  "Go to Father."

She did not obey, but walked towards me curiously.  I felt futile tears pricking my eyes.  "Go to Father," I begged.

"Why are you weeping, Mother?"

Daryn looked at my daughter, first indifferently, but then with revulsion.  "You are no child.  You are the devil in a child's form."

I grasped out, and tried to hold him, uselessly, but he fought out of my grasp, and pointed his wand towards my daughter, my precious one.  He said the words I feared most, and my fear froze me, I reached out to my daughter but it was too late.  Far too late.

"Avada Kedavra."  Finally I tore the wand from him, snapped it and destroyed it.  It was too late.  My daughter slumped and fell to the ground, and I caught her.  I could only stare – I could not understand how Sarai could be so lifeless, so still.  Daryn was silent again, his glazed eyes betraying a kind of conflict within.

My child was dead.  Too late, Salazar came running up the corridor, flanked by Godric and Rowena.  He touched me.  "Helga?  Helga, what has happened?  I heard…"

His voice drowned at the sight of his precious child in my arms.  Her eyes were open but their sparkle was dulled.  They would never sparkle again.

Rage like a volcano erupted through him.  His voice spitting sparks, his wand was out and pointed to the madman.  Those words again, those terrible words.  "Avada Kedavra."  Daryn was dead.  For a second, Salazar looked blandly at the corpse, and then realised what he had done.  He reached out like a hurt infant.

"Helga, Helga, please tell me Sarai isn't dead."  His voice was breaking.  My own tears of shock were now in free-flow.  I could not bear to answer him.  He stroked her forehead, held her limp hand.  Then he slumped onto the floor and wept and wept and wept.  My world had shattered and I was numb.  Was my daughter really dead?  Could she really die?

After a few moments, Rowena came over and touched my arm.  My tears had subsided, strangely, whilst Salazar was curled up, still weeping, more broken than I could have ever imagined.  I clung desperately to Sarai's body, a part of me thinking that this was all a strange illusion and she would spring back to life at any moment.

"Helga," Rowena said.  She sat down next to me and wrapped her arm around me.  Godric had dismissed all the classes, and sent them back to their rooms, and I could still hear some of the children walking around and talking.  They belonged to another world.  Rowena's intelligent words often made me feel better, so I asked her, "Is this a dream, Rowena?"

"I hope so," she replied, but it was not the answer I had been hoping for.  It was too vague.  Godric returned, and sat down next Salazar, awkwardly, not knowing how to act.  In time, he sensed our presence, and sat up.  He looked almost like a stranger – I had never seen him like this.  "Godric," he said, matter-of-factly, "my daughter's dead."

His voice was so eerily calm, so gentle, that I was taken aback.  I heard the news as if it was new to me, and I reacted accordingly.  The tears began again, the tears for Sarai, and Salazar held me as I wept onto him, two lost souls overwhelmed with grief.  Eventually, the tears subsided into emptiness, and we found ourselves getting up, needing to do something practical to take our minds off the matter at hand.  Rowena offered to tell Stefan of what had occurred – I gratefully accepted, knowing him to be too old for the pretty stories we tell children to make them feel better.  He knew what death was.  The last thing he needed was parents too struck with grief to help him in his own.  Salazar cast a preserving charm on the body of our child, we wrapped her in a blanket, and began to walk back.

The next day was surreal.  It was an empty world without my little girl tugging at me and chattering away in her own little voice.  I had spoken with Stefan – we cried together for a short while – and I watched out for him the next day.  This somehow eased the pain, giving me some sort of motherly purpose.  Salazar went about his daily tasks hardened, the brisk manner he often used was accentuated further.  A few days later, Sarai's funeral was held in the nearby village church.  Salazar did not attend – Stefan and I stood together, weeping more, but beginning to accept that she was gone.  We returned to quiet rooms.  Salazar was poring over some books.

"We missed you at the funeral, my love," I said softly, and his head snapped up.

"I failed to see how a public snivelling session could bring my daughter back."  His tone was caustic.  I sighed.  I would have to leave it until later to talk to him about it.

He continued with the same aloof and scornful manner for a number of days.  At our next meeting, he stayed silent for a long while, and then said, "What are you planning to do about the Muggleborns?"

"What do you mean, Salazar?" Godric asked patiently.  

"A Muggleborn killed my daughter, Godric."  His tone was informative, perhaps even patronising.

"The boy was out of his mind," Rowena said gently.  "It was not the fault of his birth."

"It was indeed the fault of his birth.  As I predicted, he could not stand to be a wizard and a Muggle at the same time.  I hope you are not planning to endanger us with more of these over-talented Muggles?"

I did not know what to say.  He was correct, of course, that Daryn's Muggle background had probably been what drove him to his actions, but I had made such progress with most of the Muggleborn children.  Salazar's logic was faulty.

"If we don't teach them, Salazar, the problem will become worse," I said.  "Children will be told to hate and fear their own talents.  Children like Daryn will be created a hundred times more.  By shutting them out of Hogwarts…"

"By shutting them out of Hogwarts, we will make our pupils safe.  We will be free from maniacs.  We will not have to suffer their novice understanding of magic."  He got up and stormed out.  I wondered what was to become of us.

Salazar did not participate in meetings after that.  He conducted his classes on his own agenda.  Godric often attempted to talk with him about his lesson style – some of my pupils, whom he taught Potions felt they were being treated unfairly because they were Muggleborns.  But Salazar would not listen to reason.  I grew increasingly concerned from him – he was more closed than ever, even to me.  He took Stefan out of his classes, and began to tutor him alone, and Stefan, too, became colder and more private.  Sometimes I cried for Sarai, and sometimes I simply cried for us.  Would we ever be a family again?

I found one of 'my' girls in tears near the Potions classrooms one afternoon, and barely needed to ask what was wrong.  She spilled a story about how Salazar had told her she was not fit to study magic, and I gathered all my courage together at last and decided I must talk to him.

He was drawing up some plans when I saw him.  Plans for what I do not know, but plans they were.  I was worried – he would not tell me what they were.

"Salazar," I said, softly.

He looked up, irritated.  "What is it, woman?  I happen to be busy."

"I need to talk to you about how you're treating my pupils, Salazar."

"I have no problem with your pupils who are wizards."

"My pupils are all witches and wizards.  You know what I mean.  You're discouraging my Muggleborns."

Salazar's eyes were deadly.  "Have you forgotten Sarai already?"

"Of course I haven't…"

"Or perhaps you don't care?  After all, the maniac was one of your pupils.  Another little Muggleborn to be tolerated."  I felt nauseated.  How could he think that?

"Salazar, that's not true, I do care, you know I do."

"And I supposed you cared when you watched my daughter die.  In which case, I must request that you kindly not care about anything important!"  His expression was more than anger.  It was hate.

He spat out the words, and it became crystal clear.  "If it wasn't for your inaction, she would still be alive!"

He blamed me for Sarai's death.  His words brought back the flood of nightmares, the repeating memories of that terrible moment in which everything was changed and I saved her after all.  Often, in the back of my mind, I had blamed myself.  Now Salazar was blaming me.  My own husband, he whom I had trusted and adored.  Silently, I walked away, not knowing whether I would weep until morning light, or perhaps like him, I would become hard and absorb it without feeling.  I was lost, and I wondered if I would ever find peace again.

Stefan did not call me 'Mama Helga' anymore.  He called me "Madam" or "My lady" like my pupils did.  I hated it – I would prefer even the use of solely my first name to such detached and formal titles.  He was changing too – beginning to disrespect me, even hate me, but he would not listen to my imploring that we talk about what was troubling him.  Poor Rowena had to deal with my distress almost every time we met, I was so torn up.  Godric became angry – typical Godric – and he confronted Salazar (against my advice) and told him that his behaviour was distressing me.  I came in just in time to witness Salazar's reaction.  He was eerily calm.  He took up his plans from the table, and screwed them up.

"There.  My plan is finished.  The Chamber is built.  And now I will glady bow to your wishes."

Godric was staring at Salazar as if he had gone mad, and by that time, I think Salazar genuinely had.

"What do you mean?" Godric demanded.

"I shall leave, dear friend."  He smiled widely.  "I hope you are all killed horribly.  Especially you, Helga.  May the Devil himself punish your foolishness, preferably with eternal torment."  He said it in such an offhand manner, it seemed that not only did he hate me, but nor did he think anything of me.  Rowena had tried to persuade me that it was his love for me that was creating his conflicts.  But Salazar despised me with all his heart – was it my fault?  He gripped my arm, so tightly it hurt.  "May his pitchfork pierce your flimsy heart."  He threw me back into Godric.  Then he called to his son, "Stefan, it is time for us to depart."

The boy I had formerly thought of as my own son stood by his father.  Salazar's expression was resolute, but I could see reluctance on Stefan's face.  For a moment, I wanted to beg them both to stay.  Perhaps one day Salazar would love me again.  I stepped forward, and Salazar slapped me, hard across the cheek.  I gasped with the pain, and fell back – Godric supported me.  In my weakest moment, I decided not to bow to hate, and drew myself up, my cheek still stinging from the blow.  I could not afford to betray myself, if nothing else.

"I love you, Salazar.  And I love you, Stefan.  I know that you have better sense than this.  Your hatred can never save you."

"How quaint," Salazar said, cruelly, but at that moment I watched his eyes, and saw a familiar flicker.  I had been heard.  My voice became stronger.

"Goodbye, my love.  I hope you will return one day, Salazar, and see what true wizards my Muggleborns become.  Good luck in your journey."  I turned away.  Behind me, I heard them Disapparate.  I had a strong feeling that I might never see them again.

Some months later, Godric suggested we formalise our four groups into 'Houses'.  The new school year was due to start soon, and Salazar's abandoned pupils appeared rather lost without their chief mentor.  In some ways, this was a good thing, allowing them to mingle rather more with the others – Salazar had encouraged them to act superior, especially more recently.  But before – before the death of our child – he had taught them to become fine witches and wizards, clever and cunning and ambitious.  Rather than destroy all evidence of his former friend's existence, Godric wanted to honour the old Salazar, somehow.

Godric had a hat which Rowena had enchanted as a gift – it was a curious creature, which spoke and thought and sang songs, and Godric said that it helped him with decisions, being able to see into his mind.  The hat had known all of the four founders, and so we determined that the hat could direct the children to the house to which they belonged.

The hat did its job better than expected.  Salazar's house, containing the cunning and ambitious and all the children who were as Salazar had been, contained no Muggleborns.  I worried that they would turn out how some of the older pupils would turn out – as Stefan had become.  And indeed, the youngest children, taught by the older, often sneered at the other houses, particularly mine.  Sometimes, however, things were different.  The teacher who replaced Salazar came to me one day and told me one of his older pupils was intent on starting a school for younger children, to teach poorer magical children to read and write so that they did not feel behind when they got to Hogwarts.  I smiled at the news, and was reminded of something I had forgotten a long time ago.

Hogwarts had been Salazar's idea.

***

_And there you have it.  Please review._


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